


Serenades for Strings in E

by uro_boros



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Music AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3776212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uro_boros/pseuds/uro_boros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi Ackerman’s fingers are calloused around the flute of his champagne glass. He holds it like his hands are more used to clutching mugs than stemware. </p>
<p>“Oh,” blinks Erwin, his voice uncharacteristically warm, his heart fluttering nervous in his chest as Levi Ackerman turns flat eyes on his face, “You’re smaller than I thought.”</p>
<p>It isn’t what he meant to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serenades for Strings in E

Erwin feels a little silly at the reception after, dressed in the suit his father passed down to him, soft with age, a little musty from the back of his closet. Around him, women shimmer in dresses worth more than a year of his pay; men laugh politely with one another, their voices the perfect pitch so not to be too loud in the hall.

His students bought him the tickets–symphony season passes, scraped together with the money they earned through newspaper routes and extra chores. The seat was one of the terrible ones in the very back, but it was the symphony, regardless, and music didn’t necessarily need to be seen to be enjoyed.

A dry voice breaks through his thoughts: “That’s a suit if I’ve ever seen one.” 

Erwin tilts his head in the direction of the disturbance.

And is greeted by Levi Ackerman, gifted cellist, talented first chair–a career Erwin has watched and clipped tiny newspaper articles of–who stands head barely higher than Erwin’s chest.

Levi Ackerman’s fingers are calloused around the flute of his champagne glass. He holds it like his hands are more used to clutching mugs than stemware. 

“Oh,” blinks Erwin, his voice uncharacteristically warm, his heart fluttering nervous in his chest as Levi Ackerman turns flat eyes on his face, “You’re smaller than I thought.”

It isn’t what he meant to say; Erwin had intended something about Levi Ackerman’s beautiful performance of Dvorak’s cello concerto. His cheeks flush, embarrassed.

Levi snorts and drains his champagne glass, setting it on the tray of a passing waiter; Erwin notes, with a growing sense of unrest, that the waiter’s uniformed suit is still probably of more value than his hand-me-down one.

“I’m always smaller than what people expect,” murmurs Levi, “which I don’t fucking get since the cello looks fucking huge next to me.”

Erwin can’t help the laugh that startles out of him, one part nervousness, one part genuine humor, another part teenage girl because this is Levi Ackerman, whose pictures would be pinned up in Erwin’s middle school locker if he was still in middle school, rather than teaching in one. It’s a belly laugh, one of those that are too loud–it silences the murmuring voices of the accumulated affluent as they turn scandalized faces to glare at him.

At Erwin’s side, Levi Ackerman’s lips quirk. “They always look so shocked when shit happens. Have you ever been to one of the ponds where it’s filled with carp? And all the carp just glub at the surface? That’s what they remind me of. Glubbing. We should toss the hors d’oeuvres at them. Bet they’d react just like the carp at that too.”

Erwin laughs louder, but has the good grace to compose his face a little in an expression of shame as he muffles the sound with his hand. “That would be terrible,” he finally says, “I’d lose the passes my students worked so hard to get me.”

“At least admit it’d be fun to do.”

Erwin sighs and smiles, shaking his head a bit ruefully. He tugs on the cuffs of his shabby suit–something in the gesture draws Levi Ackerman’s dark eyes. “It would be, just a little.”

“If you lost your tickets,” Levi says, still staring at Erwin’s sleeve, “I’d get you better ones.”

His tone is serious. It’s so at odds with his joking just seconds earlier that Erwin struggles to find what to respond with.

“That’s a very generous offer for a complete stranger,” he finally settles on, “but my students got me these. Sentimental value. They’d be crushed.”

Levi meets his gaze then. Another flute of champagne has appeared in his hand.

He extends the empty one. “We don’t have to be strangers,” he suggests, a little hesitantly.

Erwin clasps Levi's hand with care and exceeding gentleness. Earlier, too far away from the stage to make out Levi’s performance, he had closed his eyes and imagined the way these fingers danced over the neck of his instrument.

“Erwin Smith, middle school music teacher,” Erwin greets Levi, with a crooked smile. “My students would say I’m your biggest fan.”

Something pinched crosses Levi’s face before it smooths. “Levi Ackerman,” he responds, gripping Erwin’s hand more firmly. 

His hand is surprisingly warm and strong, but his expression is a little shy. He lets go of the handshake abruptly, turning on his heel and downing his glass. 

“I really do like the suit,” says Levi Ackerman before he leaves. 

Later, as Erwin gathers his overcoat from a coatcheck he hadn’t really needed, a waiter flits up to his side, a folded napkin held in one hand. “For you,” the waiter states, and leaves before Erwin can form a question.

Levi’s handwriting is shockingly messy, a sprawling scrawl that still somehow manages to be cramped.

The numbers that form his cellphone number are, in contrast, perfectly neat and even.


End file.
